Rural WTF

[bunn]

It is 20 minutes to 1am in the morning, and someone is employing a tractor, lights and a bizarre swooshing thing on the field opposite my house.    I think it may be muckspreading.   As the valley is otherwise completely silent at this hour, the noise, which would normally be unnoticeable, is quite striking.  It sounds like he is energetically circulating a number of angry foxes in a large metal barrel.

WHY  would anyone be muckspreading at 12:40am?  WHY? 

At least he's unlikely to be very long about it.  It's not a big field.  Which just increases the mystery of the 'WHY AT 12:40am?' question by an order of magnitude.

Comments

[ladyofastolat.livejournal.com]

Scenario One:

"Reuben Clodhopper!" thundered Mavis Clodhopper, her hands sharp on her hips. "How many times have I asked you to get rid of the enormous pile of muck that's sitting in the garden, right outside my parlour?"

"Yes, yes." Reuben didn't look up from his newspaper. "I'm going to spread it on yon field; I keep on telling you."

"It's been there for a week," Mavis said sourly. "And Lady Snodgrass is coming for elevensies on Friday morning. I'll never be able to hold my head up at the WI again if she arrives to find an enormous--"

"It'll be gone by Friday," Reuben insisted. "Stop nagging."

"Nagging?" Mavis echoed. "Nagging? I'll give you nagging. If it's not gone by Friday morning - not a trace of it left - I'm leaving you, Reuben Clodhopper, and that's final."

"It'll be done by Friday, woman," Reuben snapped. "Sit down and eat, woman. Can't a man eat his breakfast in peace?"

--

Similar scenes occur as the week progresses, as the anger escalates, until:

Reuben Clodhopper sat bolt up in bed in the middle of Thursday night. "OMG!" he gasped.